


Dreaming with a Broken Heart

by ladyflowdi



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-15
Updated: 2008-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:38:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyflowdi/pseuds/ladyflowdi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were things the government didn’t teach soldiers in boot camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming with a Broken Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in 2008 for the wonderful <http://mcsmooch.livejournal.com/> community. Title taken from the beautiful John Mayer song of the same name.

There were things the government didn’t teach soldiers in boot camp. Sure, they instructed the next wave of fine young men and women who were going to defend the United States the basics in discipline, respect and solidarity for their squadrons. Boot camp, the nine week crash course in military training and survival, taught a lot.

But the things that were most useful, the things that could save a soldier’s life, were what they learned out in the battle field. Sam had learned to keep her bullets in the left pocket of her vest, because those seconds of fumbling with the left hand could cost her her life. She’d learned how to tread silently, how to sneak up on unsuspecting Jaffa, and how to use all five of her senses, and her instinct, to her advantage. Years of it had conditioned her responses, and to that end, she was awake before she even opened her eyes, despite all the alcohol she and her team had been plied with just a few short hours ago. Unfamiliar terrain gave her the willies and never let her sleep deeply, something she was well used to by now, even though she hadn’t gone out in the field in years.

Had it been the light rustling of men rolling over, of snoring, she could have ignored it. However, this sound had a purpose and her eyes flew open in the dark, her heart a rapid pound in her chest.

A low, quiet grunt.

Sam swallowed her breath back down from where it had been locked in her throat. From her spot she could see the whole room, the moving shadows at the opposite end.

McKay made a noise, and another voice went, “Shhh.”

“Oh, God, I--,” and McKay whimpered, so low that Sam had to strain her ears to hear. 

A rustle, the faint sound of skin on skin, a restrained breath, and instantly Sam knew what she was hearing, what she _had_ to be hearing, even though there was no damned way she was hearing it.

“She’ll hear,” McKay whispered, his voice shaking. “John, I—”

“Shhh,” said the voice again, Sheppard, Colonel Sheppard, _John_ , and still Sam didn’t believe it, there was just _no way._

The belly-deep, familiar sound of foil, the quiet squeak of a condom slowly being rolled, and McKay’s breath sped up, so fast that Sheppard went “Shhh,” again and no way, no way was Sam hearing this except she _was_. 

The Mohtan had put them in their most prestigious long house, built of wood that smelled like amber. There were few windows, and the smoke escape cut into the cieling narrow, but even so, the splash of white moonlight, as cool and beautiful as the most mysterious of lovers, told Sam that yes, she was seeing exactly what she thought she was seeing.

McKay with his legs in the air, even now slowly being drawn down over Sheppard’s thighs, the gleaming move of muscle in his legs so perfect it took her breath away. Sheppard, leaning over him like some sleek animal, bone and sinew, his hair a dark, wild shock, looked like something out of a story, like a creature stealing away innocence. Caught in that sleepy place between dreams and the waking world Sam could almost believe it, except no innocent would ever flex his hips as McKay did. He twisted against it, face open and strangely fragile in the low light. “John, what if she—”

“She drank the wine,” Sheppard whispered, the tendons standing out in his neck. “Christ, Rodney,” and he buried his face in McKay’s neck, and Sam couldn’t not look, couldn’t look _away_ from the place where they were joined, even if she couldn’t see. “Knocked us all out last time, remember?”

He drew back and _pushed_ , a sharp, sweet little snap of his hips, and McKay crammed his fist in his mouth. Sheppard arched up and Sam could see McKay’s cock for an instant, big and thick and rosy, shining wet in the dark between their bodies. “Oh, God,” McKay said, voice choked with what Sam couldn’t identify until it came to her, _bam_ , between the eyeballs – pleasure, his voice was thick and deep and filled with pleasure, so much so that he couldn’t breathe with it. If she hadn’t been lying down, his voice would have dropped her to her knees.

She couldn’t help it, not really – Sam was a good girl, always had been, played by the rules and didn’t shake the boat unless it needed shaking, but she was human, and she was seeing something in front of her that was out her deepest, darkest fantasies. She couldn’t say she’d known, that she’d had any idea that McKay and Sheppard were in a relationship, and it _was_ a relationship, easy to see – Sheppard’s hand stroking through Rodney’s hair, his thrusts slow and careful and angled just so for maximum pleasure, if McKay’s soft cries were anything to go by. Seeing them, the way Rodney’s leg curled around Sheppard’s back, the way Sheppard finally lowered his mouth to Rodney’s, their hips stilling as they kissed, made an ache in Sam explode, made her clench her thighs and will away the sting in her eyes. 

Jealousy, sharp and ugly, came up in her chest. She couldn’t help it, looking at them, at the way they kissed each other, the way their shared pleasure made them break away, panting, made them move harder, sharper, but no less carefully. Sex with Jack wasn’t this, wasn’t anywhere near this and suddenly, suddenly Sam was overcome with the need to alert the two men to her presence, that she was awake and they were being damned sloppy, _damned_ sloppy, except… except that was John’s hand, in Rodney’s hair, and his voice, a quiet murmur, and Rodney’s fingers, tight around John’s wrist. That was something naked and exposed on Rodney’s face, and that was John kissing Rodney again, and that was the two of them shifting and pushing against each other, harder, faster, the smell of sex and sweat and _love_.

When Rodney came Sam felt her jealousy move deep between her legs. Rodney was handsome in his own way but this, this arch of back and shoulder, the way his entire body seized, the wet that smeared over his belly, over John’s hand, this was something else entirely. Then they were kissing again, panting into each other’s mouths, and Sam didn’t have to hear them to know what they were saying. John waited, he waited until Rodney was soft and pliant and mewling with pleasure, and then his hips snapped forward. As John lost his control so did Sam, pushing her hand between her thighs to rub hard at the seam of her pants. 

Rodney’s head lolled, exhausted and pleasure-drunk, and for an instant Sam was terrified he had caught her watching them, but it was obvious that even though his eyes were open, he wasn’t seeing anything outside of John. She knew because John thrust and Rodney moaned, a sharp little sound, and above him, sweating and gasping, John said, “Christ, Rodney,” and Sam’s body ached with sympathy at the sweet little thrusts, at the sound John made when he finally lost himself in Rodney.

They collapsed, skin cooling in the wind creeping through the little nooks and crannies. Sam knew that, come morning, they’d both be dressed, in their separate bunks, and as presentable as they ever were, as if they’d never been naked, as if John hadn’t pressed kisses to Rodney’s closed eyes, as if their hands hadn’t twined on Rodney’s chest. And suddenly, achingly unsatisfied, Sam was reminded of other away missions, old away missions where Jack and Daniel would be dressed and presentable and in separate bunks, laughing and joking and more intimate than Jack ever was with Sam, naked with his hands on her breasts.

John whispered something and Rodney answered with a smile, eyes crinkled, the moonlight catching each little line of his face. 

Her throat suspiciously tight, Sam closed her eyes. 

She didn’t sleep.


End file.
